The narrator has moved to Milan for a relatively new relationship and married - when her husband is diagnosed with cancer, they continue their lives with as much normality as possible, until the doctor tells her, but not her husband, that he has less than a year to live…

At under 100 pages, this is a tiny gem that absolutely packs a punch. It’s a very raw story of waiting for somebody you love to die - the drawn-out anticipatory grief, helplessly witnessing their decline, the strange limbo of waiting for the inevitable whilst life continues around you. It’s no secret that I love a book on grief - this is a very different version of bereavement than my own experiences (which have been sudden and unexpected) and I found it very moving.

This is based on Ørstavik’s own experience - usually I struggle with autofiction, but not in this case, I think because Ørstavik focuses on the raw emotions of dealing with the knowledge of impending bereavement rather than the details of their lives. Details are included, of course, but they’re more in passing or to set a scene, and the introspective narration brings a resonant universality to the story.

An introspective, raw story of love, the loneliness of loss and navigating the anticipatory grief when a loved one is diagnosed with a terminal illness.